


the end.

by delibell



Category: WKM - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jim? Jim, Still crying TM, WKM, Who Killed Markiplier?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 17:18:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12370362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delibell/pseuds/delibell
Summary: The Reader and Damien were lovers before WKM. They still care about eachother even after the events of WKM.





	the end.

Gray. A whole world of nothing but gray tones and colors, a vast emptiness that has no start or finish…That is what you see, or at least what you  _think_  you see. The first time you had been here was right after being shot, faced with a dilemma whether to live on as a… _being_  or die as yourself. Putting your trust into the wrong people had driven you to the first option. That day there was darkness all around you. Now it’s all simply gray. The surface of this place is wet, calm streams of water rush by your feet, but why or to where you have no clue. Gray. Time passes neither fast nor slow, you cannot dream or eat or do anything but exist and feel certain things. Only strong emotions though, the ones that are powerful enough to break the shell of indifference that constantly surrounds you. Those emotions flash in bright violent colors, namely blue and red, representing of the two other people stuck here with you. Celine and…Damien.

But they aren’t always here. Most of the time it’s simply you stuck with your thoughts: on those blissful occasions you lie on your back and let the lukewarm water soak you to the bone, close your eyes and imagine a different world. The gray tones warm with color and you take in a breath of fresh air, hearing distant sounds and smell mixing scents of mother nature and choking fumes the car releases as it slowly drives off…Yes, you see it now. You are back at the manor, with the Colonel standing by the door and in surprise turning to look at you.

Then there’s a static flash, yelling and the blissful memory fades into gray as you open your eyes only to see Celine and Damien at each other’s throats again. They always argue nowadays: Damien wants to take control in any way possible, and Celine tries to calm him down, make him rational. Celine was always nice to you. Even being stuck here, she appeared more often than her blue counterpart. She tried talking to you. She tried to invite you, asked if you wanted to see what they were doing, if you wanted to feel the real world again. You refused. If it’s a world without color, then you don’t want to see it. You don’t want to tarnish the perfect image you have of it in your mind, if you can even call it ‘yours’ to begin with.

And Celine needed you. More often than not she and Damien were apart. He took over sometimes and he didn’t ease up without a fight. Sometimes he trapped her here, with you. And she couldn’t do anything else but ask for your help. She was always so gentle to approach you. She’d lay her hand on your shoulder and give a shy, pained smile, “Could you…call him, please?”

Because no matter how important Celine was, Damien only showed up when you said his name. It took one word only and he would appear in light panic, as if fearing that you were somehow in danger in your own prison. Perhaps he simply felt guilty. Or, perhaps he thought you finally figured a plan to escape.

Celine didn’t feel as strongly as Damien did. It showed after a while. She looked tired and her first bright red glow grew weaker each time you saw her. Until you didn’t see her at all anymore. You wished you knew when she, or Damien for that matter, stopped appearing all together.  _Perhaps they are busy taking over the world_ , you told yourself. That saddened you, but again, it was only a dull ache somewhere in your chest with no real substance.

Only when you started noticing your hands becoming strangely transparent did you realize that Celine, indeed, is gone.

Stuck in your ways with nothing better to do you sit in the water that goes up to your thighs and stare at the ripples it makes. A static flash. You don’t bother turning around as you hear footsteps behind you, simply continue to watch your bleak reflection. You briefly recall the last time you’ve saw him: that moment you were flooded with emotions, mixing and matching and overpowering, up to the point where there was nothing but it and it alone – compassion. As you looked into his eyes you saw the shadow of his former self, distorted by blue and red he stood tall as said nothing to your words. You had told him you forgive him. And, you added, the real difficulty will be for him to forgive himself.

He calls your name softly – it echoes with a strange buzz and a high pitched ring. You come to stand slowly, finally able to face him. He watches your expression closely, yet coldly, almost in a calculating way as if trying to anticipate your next move. A pang of ultraviolet hatred strikes you – this is not Damien, not the loyal and caring man you used to know before. He is Dark now. But you refuse to believe it, and so instead of letting your anger spill you swallow it down painfully and give him a small smile that no doubt is a bit crooked. “Do you remember…When we were in college?” You note his jaw tense, “I was looking for my dorm room and I accidentally stumbled into the wrong building…Anyone else would’ve laughed at me, I was so… _different_ , back then.  _Strange_ , even, with my eccentric outfits and hair dyes and a dream to become an attorney, of all things. And you saw me, there, by the boy’s dormitories looking scared and confused and you walked up to me to simply say hello. To  _help_.” You caught his gaze, saw ambers of familiarity shimmer in the deep black iris, “And then at first class, you passed me a note—“

“ _Don’t_.” He says through gritted teeth and you inhale a sharp breath; his persona cracks a small bit, only enough to peer in what is hiding inside, but not to fully show it. You gulp. Your brows knit together.

“- _You passed me a note_  asking me if I wanted to meet you after so we could go get a coffee—“

“( _Name_ ). Don’t.”

“—And I kept it till this day, even after college because you were my first date and my best friend—“

“(Name)-“

“-Because I  _loved_  you and once upon a time  _you loved me too_ —“

“ ** _I S AID E NO UGH_**.”

Your voice dies in your throat with a weak exhale of breath. Hurt spreads through you like a wildfire and you feel your throat tie in knots. In a fit of anger Damien runs a hand through his hair, the other clutching his walking stick so tightly you are almost sure he will break it. Despite wanting to take a cautious step back, somewhere in the back of your mind you have a feeling that he isn’t going to hurt you – that he  _can’t_  hurt you, because he  _never_  could.

“… _I don’t deserve it_.” He utters under his breath, looking at anywhere but you. Your lips thin into a line, “ _I_ …” A ghost of his former self, the man you used to love, the man you were happy to see again after such a long time, the man you held in high regards because you knew he was a good man. That man stands in front of you, controlled by unyielding hate and sadness and hurt and the blinding need of revenge. A part of you wants to save him from all of that, wants to take him into your arms and keep him there until this – all of this,- fades into nothing. Until the two of you die, or live, but not like this. Not trapped by own selfish desires. Not used as pawns or puppets. Live or die as people, something you used to be before this madness. But…a part of you thinks that it is too late. It is too late to save him, or yourself, though, to tell the upmost truth, you don’t mind staying here all that much. As long as he doesn’t go down this path anymore, as long as he is set free and returns to life as the Mayor, or doesn’t return at all. Yes, what you feel is…desire. Desire to save him, because you don’t want him to be Dark, or live in a world that has Dark in it. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness…”

“You’re right.” You say and he snaps to you, “You don’t.” You rasp, “But I forgive you anyway. Because I—“

“Don’t say it.  _Please_  don’t—“

“-Love you.”

It all happens in a split second: one moment he stands a good ten feet away and the next his face is right next to yours, his hands cupping your cheeks with enough force to hurt and he looks into your eyes in desperation, almost as if words do him scarce to portray what he truly feels. “ **Look at me**.” He demands, his voice rough and raw and a mix between controlled rage and melancholy, “I am a  **monster**. I  _killed_  people, I  _betrayed_  people ** _, I betrayed you_**. I  **hurt**  you, (Name).  _Look_   _at_   **me**.  **Look. At. Me**.  ** _I_**  took your body. ** _I_**  used you. Are you  _so_   _stupid_  that you have already forgotten?!  **I am devouring you as we speak**  and you still… _still_  say…” He closes his eyes in a shameful way, as if he did not intend to let that real emotion slip. Slowly, your cold hand hook around his wrist and he eases up from your touch.

“And I mean it, too.” You murmur, “Damien, you don’t…You don’t  _have_  to be this. You don’t  _need_  to be this.” He shakes his head and you know it’s a fruitless effort to say this, but you try anyway, “I  _know_  you’re still you, I  _know_ —“

“I’m not.” His vice is smooth and velvety, but strangely quiet. He opens his eyes and you see nothing but black, “Not anymore.” His finger caresses your cheek in a subconscious reaction to seeing you so distressed, “Not for a long time.” He gulps, “ _I_ …need to get you out of here. You will die if you stay.”

“…Aren’t you supposed to not care?”

He almost looks offended, “How can I…not…about you…”

“I’m not leaving. Not unless you’re with me.” You state firmly.

“You don’t have a choice, (Name).  _You never did._ ”

“Then I’d rather die—“

“Don’t say that. You can’t…you can’t... _die_ , I can’t… _lose_   _you_   _too_.”

Only when he wipes a tear do you realize that you’re crying. There is a strange bleakness to the world, now that you get a better look at it, it grows darker from the sides, emotions feel clearer and the water that your feet are submerged into grows colder by the second. You blink. It almost seems as if…he’s sucking in the gray, the static, his hands on your skin feel cold and ghostly whilst his black pupils glaze over and you realize this is the end.

“ _Damien_ —!”

“ _I’m going to make you hate me. Because I don’t deserve anything else._ ”

The room goes in vertigo: your vision distorts into difficult shapes and sizes of strange objects and a vast spectrum of colors. You feel his hands let you go and the sensation of falling overtakes you; fear spikes in your chest as his last words ring in your ear as a saddest note of a beautiful poem. The cold is replaced by warmth and all the lights are sniffed out. You fear getting soaked again, because this time you know that if you splash into those depths it’s going to be  _freezing_  and it is  _going_  to hurt. You wait for the impact, but…it never comes.

Confused and with a rapidly growing headache you groan and pry one lazy eye open. Bright lights greet your vision and you feel like throwing up. After a moment of composition you feel yourself grow a bit numb at your fingertips, a sharp pain in your arm and a strange softness under your head. Again, you open your eye and…A colorful room with warm bright lights greets you; the stench of medicine and the happy  _beep beep_  of a nearby machine draw you out of your daze and you almost jump up.  _Hospital_. How did you get here…and why did you get here? Did something happen to you?

There’s a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. In confusion through the open door to your room you watch nurses and doctors pass down the corridor. Huh. Strange…It feels like… _you are forgetting something_.

A shallow breath catches your attention and you tilt your head to the left almost mechanically – you are unaware of how long have you been staying here, but it must’ve been a while because everything little move requires immense effort. Another bed stands next to yours with a soundly sleeping man lying in it. Your heart spurs in your chest as you crank your neck to get a better look at him. Blinking owlishly you try to shake off the feeling of deja vu and instead focus on the handsome strangers features – he seems a bit pale, but overall fine. Glancing up you note his name scribbled near his bedpost.

Mark Fischbach.

A small smile makes its way onto your face. You plainly have no idea why you’re grinning like an idiot, it must be from the medication and your memories of what had happened are still very fuzzy. But you feel happy for some strange unexplainable reason, so happy in fact that you almost want to wake the sleeping man and say hello. But you don’t. Instead you turn away from him, take in a deep calming breath of afternoon air and close your eyes.

Again, the same fearful sensation that you are forgetting something important strikes you but only for a heartbeat. Before you know it, you fall into blissful, dreamless sleep.


End file.
